


(what a match) i am half-doomed and you're semi-sweet

by ofangelsandhunters



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blood, Bruises, Cuddling & Snuggling, Derek Takes Care Of Stiles, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mugging, Not Canon Compliant, Sharing a Bed, Unconventional Format
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-14 22:34:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5761420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofangelsandhunters/pseuds/ofangelsandhunters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Is he aware that he’s not going to his best friend’s house, but rather, someone else’s? Is he aware that he’s going to the person he knows hates him but not really—a frenemy, someone who he knows has his back anyway? Is his labored breathing starting to speed up once he realizes that it’s not the right road—? </i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>As he pulls up into the spare parking space, does he notice that he’s doing things on autopilot—twisting the key in the ignition to shut the car off, unlocking the door, opening it, locking it back again and slamming it closed? Does he acknowledge the doorman as he trudges through the threshold? Does he see the floor number he punches for the elevator? </i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>Is he aware of how badly he’s shaking now, his nerves shot, face so pale that it highlights his bruises? When he steps off the elevator and swivels his head left and right to find the right number, does he knock once he reaches it? Or does he just stands there awkwardly, hand raised to rap his knuckles on the door?</i></p><p> </p><p>In which Stiles goes to a place where he finds safety.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(what a match) i am half-doomed and you're semi-sweet

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "Disloyal Order of Water Buffaloes" by Fall Out Boy.
> 
> This was actually an assignment from my Creative Writing class, in which we had to write an homage to Donald Barthelme's "Concerning the Bodyguard," hence the unconventional format. Of course, I had to make it sterek-related, because I've never not made anything sterek related. Hope it's easy to follow. Happy reading!
> 
> Not beta'd.

Is that the deep rumble of a Jeep making its way down the narrow road? Is the teenage boy driving the Jeep even coherent enough to go from point A to B? Does his red hoodie cover up the finger-shaped bruises that spider over the expanse of his pale neck? Does his throat hurt every time he swallows? Does the one good eye he has compensate for the other that’s purpled and swelled shut? Do the scrapes on his knuckles hurt? Is the blood on the side of his head congealing too quickly, or not at all? Does his head throb from the unrelenting pain that his adversary put him through?

Was he all alone? Did nobody step up to the plate and help him?

Is he driving home immediately? Is he driving someplace else, where it’s safer for him and his dad? Did he call his dad on his way home to let him know that he was staying at his best friend’s house that night and to not worry, he’s okay? And if he did that, did he tell his dad that he loves him, and to not order a large meat lovers’ pizza for dinner because he needs to watch his cholesterol?

As he’s driving past intersections, does he notice the stop signs that clearly glare red from the side? Does he acknowledge that he’s overshot the speed limit for the area, and that he should probably slow down because he lives in a small town and deputies take their job seriously? Is his face emotionless and blank as he keeps his foot on the gas, hands clenched so tightly on the wheel that his knuckles are white and his breath is slightly shaky? Is he fighting off a panic attack right now? Is the adrenaline coursing through him not yet subsided?

Is he aware that he’s not going to his best friend’s house, but rather, someone else’s? Is he aware that he’s going to the person he knows hates him but not really—a frenemy, someone who he knows has his back anyway? Is his labored breathing starting to speed up once he realizes that it’s not the right road—?

As he pulls up into the spare parking space, does he notice that he’s doing things on autopilot—twisting the key in the ignition to shut the car off, unlocking the door, opening it, locking it back again and slamming it closed? Does he acknowledge the doorman as he trudges through the threshold? Does he see the floor number he punches for the elevator?

Is he aware of how badly he’s shaking now, his nerves shot, face so pale that it highlights his bruises? When he steps off the elevator and swivels his head left and right to find the right number, does he knock once he reaches it? Or does he just stands there awkwardly, hand raised to rap his knuckles on the door?

He knows he doesn’t actually knock, that internally he’s regretting even coming here, but is he startled that the door is swung open? Is he startled that the man on the other side is looking at him with such concern? Does it make the boy’s eyes drop to the ground, tears finally welling up at the corners and blurring his vision?

Does he feel himself being led into the loft by one strong hand, the other pulling the door closed? Does he feel the hand become two and caress his face gently and a voice asking him,  _ What happened? _

Is the boy shaking his head because he doesn’t want to tell the man the details? Or that he doesn’t want the man to worry, that it’s passed now? Does he tell the man this? Does he wince when the man turns his head ever so slightly with his fingers?

Does the boy hear the man say  _ Stay here, I’ll be right back _ and walk away? Will he grab at a hand, tell the man not to worry? Will the man stay with him? Or will the man hesitate a little, thread his fingers through the boy’s, and guide him through the loft, stopping first at the refrigerator to get an ice pack, then making their way to the bathroom? Does the man motion for the boy to hop up on the counter while also pulling out a first aid kit? Is he pressing the ice pack to the boy’s face? Does the man ask  _ What happened? _ once again, and does the boy shrug in answer?

Is the man cleaning the blood from the boy’s face? Is the man’s face furrowed in thought at the sight of the boy’s state? Does the boy think that the man looks older that way, instead of twenty-four and sporting some scruff? Does the boy wince once the blood is clean and ointment is applied to the wound, a little harsher than necessary? Does the man gentle in his movements, muttering an apology to the boy? Does the boy smile at the man in reassurance, telling him that it’s okay, even if he winces again at the pain?

Is the boy telling the story now with a small voice, starting from how he was walking down an alley to his Jeep and was jumped, but the dude who jumped him didn’t get his phone, only his wallet, and it hurt a lot more than he thought it would and that’s how he was able to call his dad, tell him not to worry? Does the man open his mouth to snap at him, but hesitate, because the boy is shaking too much? Does the man finish bandaging up the rest of the wounds and offer clothes to the boy? Does the boy accept? Does the man tell him that it’s okay, that he’s going to be alright? Does the boy believe him? Will he tell him that he feels safe where he is, and that he’s so grateful that the man’s there? He does, doesn’t he, and when the man’s eyes light up, a corner of his mouth quirking to the side, telling the boy that he’s glad that he thinks that, does the boy want him to linger a little while the man gets him clothes?

And when the boy takes the dark gray henley and sweats from the man, will the man leave the bathroom so that he can change? Or will he enlist the man’s help? Is he too shy to make that known or is that asking for too much? The man has been so nice to him, so welcoming yet disapproving about the entire thing; he’s fucking lucky it wasn’t anything supernatural, but what if it had been? What then? Defenseless and alone, would he have been able to take on whatever were-creature or all-powerful druid came his way?

The man seems to find out about his dilemma, so does the man stay? Will he fumble his fingers a bit, fidget on the spot, and make the effort to walk over in front of the boy, to slip his fingers under the hem of his hoodie? Is he whispering,  _ Let me help you, Stiles, please _ , and does the boy lift his arms up the best he can so that the man can sweep his hoodie and top off? Is the man gasping at the sight of mottled purple and black bruises littering his pale torso, caught off-guard by the fist-sized markings? Is the boy seeing the man’s face and the array of expressions that flit across it, from surprise to pity to disbelief to anger? And when the man places one of his palms on the boy’s ribs, the other caressing the back of his neck, does the boy watch in fascination the black tendrils that crawl up the man’s skin, leeching his pain away? Is the morphine-like drowsiness that fills his veins enough to make him pliant, not hold himself up as if to show that he’s not hurting as much as he is?

_ Did you see their face? _ the man asks, wrapping an arm around the boy’s waist and setting his feet down onto the floor, where the boy can take his jeans off easily, and have his hands always been that sluggish, or is that due to the pain-drain the man did?

_ No, _ the boy replies, finding himself wrapping his arms around the man’s neck, burying his face in the crook where his neck and shoulder meet,  _ No, it was too dark, and there was nothing I could’ve done anyway _ .

_ You could’ve told your dad, _ the man huffs, trying to pry the boy’s arms from around him so that the boy can start to put on the sweatpants; does the boy resist?  _ Stiles, come on,  _ comes the complaint, and is the boy mumbling incoherently as he does what the man says? Or does he kick aside the pants around his ankles and just shake his head? The boy knows that he’s fatigued, but does the man know that? Surely he must, for the man is a werewolf; werewolves have better senses than mortals do, to which the boy tells the man and the man huffs again, this time trying to pull the head-hole of the henley around the boy.

_ Didn’t tell ‘m dad because I didn’t want him to worry _ , says the boy, and the man pauses long enough in commandeering one of the boy’s arms into the hole so that he could look at him properly, and the boy knows that he must look like the least attractive right now, with his slightly swollen face and bandaged head and black eye, and is the boy imagining it, or is the man getting closer to him?

_ We always worry, _ the man whispers, holding his gaze to the boy’s one good eye, and there’s a sort of understanding and fondness there that the boy didn’t think he saw before, but now he does, and has he been this oblivious of it? Of how much the man…cared? The man breaks the spell to finally getting the boy’s other arm in the shirt. The man also, in a fluid motion, gets the pants up the boy’s long, pale legs, and opts to carry him bridal-style through the threshold, to which the boy asks sleepily,  _ Where’re we goin’? _

_ Bed, _ the man says simply, depositing the drowsy boy onto the king, where the sheets were slightly mussed from him lying down earlier, and the boy wonders, did he wake him from being half-asleep?

_ Sorry, for what it’s worth, _ the boy whispers, a dull, throbbing pain seeping through his muscles, and the man reaches out a hand to leech it away, and the boy grasps it in one of his and wonders bemusedly, would the man like to stay in bed with him and keep him pain free? And that all he can do is become an octopus and cling hard?

Is he imagining it, or is the man chuckling away? Is the boy thinking to himself, in his drowsy state, that he shouldn’t miss that laugh for the world, that it’s the best sound that he’s ever heard and one of the best he’ll ever hear? Does the man laugh again, with the fondest tone?

_ Sleep,  _ the man says, reaching out a hand to push the hair from the boy’s forehead.  _ I’ll see you in the morning. _

_ Derek,  _ the boy clutches at the hand taking the pain,  _ stay? _

The man stops in his movements, stares at the boy in wonderment; does he think it’s a bad idea?

_ You’ll be keeping me safe, I know that _ , the boy says, closing his eyes,  _ but wouldn’t you think it’d be better here? _

The man contemplates some more, then climbs over the limp figure in his bed, cocoons himself around him; is the boy settling himself against the man’s chest, his back to the man’s front? Is he pulling one of the man’s arms tighter around him? Does the man pull the covers up, makes sure that the wound on the boy isn’t irritated too much?

Does the man still think that taking care of this beautiful boy in his bed and making sure he’s safe is a bad idea?

 

(He doesn’t think so, and sleeps to the sound of the boy’s snores, knocked out.)

**Author's Note:**

> I cry about sterek (among other things) on a daily basis, so come hang out with me [here](http://buc-eebarnes.tumblr.com) if ya dig!


End file.
